The Old Treehouse
by AmbyrRose
Summary: Before there was Cat and Beck, there was Beckett and Rina, and the treehouse that made them who they are. Rated T for eating disorder and mild language.


**AN:** _I don't usually dedicate my work, but for this I'll make an exception. I have two people I want to dedicate this to, the second serious, the first decidedly less so. The first is Winnie the Pooh, who led me to this spectacular song and who reminds me there is still some innocence in this world.  
>The second is my best friend, who's been there for me through everything and is one of the reasons I survived last year. She's one of the strongest people I know, but she helps me laugh at myself too, and she's never, ever too busy or too hurting herself to let me cry on her shoulder. You're amazing, and I'm honored to call you my best friend.<em>

_On that note, enjoy!_

.

..

...  
><strong>Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?<br>****I'm getting old and I need something to rely on  
><strong>**So tell me when you're gonna let me in  
><strong>**I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin . . .  
><strong>...

The night was glowing blue and silver, as the purest white light filtered down from the moon. Tangles of shadows splayed across the ground, mixing with the forest's brambles and underbrush to create dizzying patterns. The air was utterly still; there was no noise but for the soft babbling of a glittering brook.

And the muffled footsteps of a teenage boy, climbing a ladder into an age-old treehouse.

He swung the trapdoor open easily, clambering in and sprawling against the wall. He had the distinctly beaten look of a boy who'd forgotten why he was supposed to be angry, and he ran a hand through his thick black hair and sighed wearily. He closed his eyes, and the wood at his back and the boards at his feet seemed to hum with memories, brimming over until they dragged to the surface the one person he most assuredly did not want to think about.

Still, one fight couldn't change the fact that she was always on his mind, and as the moon rose higher still he sat quite still and remembered.

X

"Give it back! Give it back!"

Giggling and hollering, the children raced through the woods, tripping over roots and jumping dead branches. The boy was holding a yellow balloon by the ribbon, which was jerking and bobbing along just out of reach of the little girl's fingers.

"Not funny, not funny! Come on, give it back!" the girl chanted, lower lip stuck out in a pout. She swiped at the balloon and actually touched it, but the slick skin bounced off her fingers, weaving cheerily away.

"Come take it, then!" shouted the little boy – and his eyes widened as the little girl put on a burst of speed and sprang, not at the balloon, but at the boy himself. With an almighty crash they hit the ground, tangling and scuffling. The balloon's ribbon slipped through the boy's fingers, and the girl gasped sharply and scrambled up, leaving the boy groaning on the forest floor. The balloon's ribbon hung tantalizingly just above her reach, the tips of her fingers just grazing it as she jumped once, twice – and fell face-first with a great "Oomph!"

By now, the boy was running too. Not bothering to pause and help her up, he used a root as a springboard, leaped, and closed his fingers around the ribbon. "Got it!"

He broke into a victory dance around the little girl, who was struggling to her feet. "Oh yeah, I did it, I won, I won . . ."

But the girl wasn't listening. Pushing dark curls out of her face, she took a few hesitant steps forward, eyes fixed on something distant, straining to make it out. A smile blossomed on her face, and even on a five-year-old's face it was breathtaking, starting in the very center of her lips and blooming outward until her chocolate eyes glowed. "Beckett, look!"

She took off into the woods. The boy looked from her to the balloon, exasperated; this wasn't the first time the girl had taken off without explanation. "Oh, come on . . . Rina! Rina, wait up!" She giggled at his pet name for her, but didn't slow down. "_Catarina!_" She disappeared into the trees

Groaning, Beckett tied the balloon to one of his beltloops (_the rabbit hops out of the hole, around the tree, then back into the hole_) and scrambled after her. She hadn't gone far; he was still picking up speed when he found her, standing awestruck at the foot of an enormous oak.

"It's a _treehouse_," she said reverently.

And so it was. It was simple enough – a cube of two-by-fours with a window in each wall and a couple planks nailed to the trunk as a makeshift ladder – but it had to be the biggest treehouse they'd ever seen. The tree had grown around it until it seemed almost to be a part of it, with a woebegone old rope and tire swing hanging from the thickest of branches. To Beckett, it looked unsafe. To Catarina, it looked like heaven.

"Oh, I don't know –"

"Come on!" She snatched his wrist and dragged him forward with surprising strength. She threw him against the trunk/ladder (he swore he heard a tooth crack) and waited eagerly for him to head up. He hesitated, but with Rina behind him there was no way out but up.

The trapdoor was nearly rusted shut; he had to practically jump at it from on the ladder to get it to open. Catarina almost scrambled over him in her impatience, sprawling across the floor but bouncing up like a puppy. "Oh, Beckett, it's _perfect_!"

"I think it belongs to someone else, Rina," Beckett said nervously, looking around as if he expected someone to start yelling any moment.

"No, silly, look how old it all is!" she laughed, running a hand over the boards. "They must be old like Mommy and Daddy now, they don't need it! It's _ours_!"

"What'll we do in here?"

"Anything, anything at all!" She laughed and danced in a circle. "It can be anywhere we want it to be – a castle, or an incanted forest –"

"A what?"

"A forest with fairy spells on it, duh! Or –" her eyes widened as they did when she realized she'd just won "– a _pirate_ ship, Beckett, with bad guys and evil peg-legged captains and a princess who needs rescuing . . ." She fell back with her hand to her forehead in feigned distress, and for the first time Beckett wavered.

"Well . . ."

"_Pleeeeease?_"

He sighed. "Fine, but I get to be Peter Pan!"

Catarina grinned, slumped to the ground, and began to cry out loudly. "Oh, Peter! Peter, where are you? Please, please save me before Hook drops me down the Whirlpool of Doom to the evil crocodile . . ."

x

"Come on, Rina –"

"_Ahem_." She cleared her throat pointedly. He rolled his eyes.

"I mean, excuse me, _Princess_ –" and here he made an exaggerated bow "– but I don't really see why I have to do _everything you say_."

Catarina fixed her Cinderella crown more firmly atop her hair and giggled. "Because, Sir Beckett, you are my knight –" she tapped him pretentiously on both shoulders with a stick "– and everybody knows knights have to do everything the fairy princess tells them to do."

He glanced out the window at the splash of autumn color, specifically one brilliantly yellow leaf at the very tip of the branch. "So why do you want me to get that, again?"

She sighed. "Because, good sir, that leaf has been chosen to become the Official Flag of Rinaville."

"I still don't get what's wrong with Beckettland."

"Fine. The Official Flag of Beckettrinaland, then. Now _go get that leaf_."

_That leaf_ was a respectable distance from the ground. "Why that exact leaf? Wouldn't any yellow leaf work? Good grief, Rina, the entire tree is yellow."

Catarina was starting to lose her patience. "Look, the princess gets to tell the knight what to do, okay, _Sir_ Beckett? Now do what I told you to before I put a spell on you!" She advanced on him menacingly with the stick, and he scrambled hastily out the window onto the nearby branch.

He could tell instantly that this wasn't going to end well; the branch got far too thin far too fast to be safe. But when he turned to tell Rina this, her eyes were shining with such expectation he grit his teeth wordlessly and kept going.

He had to say, the branch held out much longer than he expected it to; it bent further, further, and further still, but the horrible _snap_ he was waiting for didn't come. He scooted out . . . out . . . he reached out a hand . . . his fingers closed around the leaf . . . "Got it!"

_Crack_.

In the end, it was the branch itself that ended up saving him; it only broke halfway, slinging him inward and downward instead of plunging him to his doom. He landed on the thicker branch with a dull _thud_, winded and shaken but definitely not broken. His fingers trembling, still clutching the leaf like a lifeline, he found the plank ladder and hauled himself into the treehouse.

"You did it! You did it, Beckett!" Rina was dancing with glee, deftly snatching the leaf away from Beckett and taping it to the wall with two sloppy strips of masking tape. "Behold, the flag of Beckettrinaland!"

"It won't last," Beckett grumbled, still shaking.

"Oh, then we'll just get another," she said brightly. "And another and another and another, forever and ever!" And before Beckett could protest or at least propose they take turns, she had popped a kiss on his cheek.

"Ew!" He stumbled backward so fast he nearly fell down the trapdoor. "Rina! What was that for?"

Catarina was grinning mischievously, and there was a decided gleam in her eye that made Beckett nervous. "Your reward for getting the flag. Did you like it, Beckett? A kiss from the fairy princess? I bet you did . . . I bet you want another one!"

"Rina, don't –" But his words were lost as Catarina lunged, and they chased each other round and round, shrieking and howling with laughter.

The yellow leaf fluttered in the wind as they ran. It lasted maybe a week, but true to Cat's word, long after it faded – long after Beckettrinaland had simply become the old treehouse – there was another to take its place, and another and another, for years and years to come.

X

Of course, things changed, even if people didn't. Catarina started going by the first part of her name instead of the last, and Beckett had his name mercifully shortened. But even as they were Beck and Cat, and even as that changed to Beck and _Jade_, and Cat and (maybe) Robbie, when they were alone, it was different. She was a little brighter, and he was a little less uptight, and sometimes, between inside jokes and brief conversations, flashes of Beckett and Rina resurfaced for a few short moments.

But Cat and Rina weren't exactly the same person, even though they looked exactly alike. Cat was a little harder, a little less innocent, a little more . . . masklike. There was really no other way to describe it. That while Beck grew slowly more absorbed in the ever-present drama between his girlfriend and the new girl he supposedly "belonged with", Cat grew a little quieter, a little more withdrawn, a little more scared each day.

Then again, maybe people do change.

X

"_Why'd you dye your hair?"_

"_Why, don't you like it?"_

"_No, no, I didn't say that! Trust me, I really like it, it's very . . . you."_

"_Oh. Thanks."_

"_So what made you decide to dye it?"_

"_Because . . . because."_

"_Ah. I get it."_

No, no he really didn't.

Cat stood in front of her full-length mirror, staring into her own eyes. Even to herself she looked pathetic. Well, maybe it was time to change that.

Pretty little Cat. Tiny little Cat. Always condescending, always meant as a compliment. Didn't these people get it? Didn't they realize their so-called compliments only heaped pressure on her until she nearly screamed? That when they said something like that, she heard something completely different? Pretty little Cat (_Stay pretty, Cat_). Tiny little Cat (_Stay tiny, Cat_). Cute little Cat (_Stay little, Cat_). And really such an unthinking complement; if they really looked, they would see how her thighs bulged, her stomach sagged out, her hips ballooned outward despite so many attempts at diets . . .

She'd dyed her hair in the vain hope people would notice her hair instead of her flaws. Sometimes it worked. Not nearly often enough.

Pretty little Cat . . . Tiny little Cat . . . Skinny little Cat . . . _Stay skinny, Cat . . . Stay tiny, Cat . . . Stay pretty, Cat . . . Pretty Cat – tiny Cat – skinny Cat – tiny – pretty – skinny – fat – ugly – useless – lonely –_

Oh, God.

Why, oh _why_ had she eaten that cupcake at lunch?

She lurched for the bathroom, anxiety in her stomach, panic in her brain, the overwhelming guilt coursing through her entire system and settling its full weight on that cupcake, that mound of sugar and fat that was going to come out if it took hell itself.

It very nearly did.

Sure, people talked about "bulimia", made it sound professional and clinical like influenza or bronchitis. "Bulimia" didn't tell you how disgusting your own fingers tasted, or how it _burned_ your throat, or how many tries it took to finally make something come out, or how sweaty, nasty, and horribly _guilty_ you felt afterwards. When she flushed the toilet, washed her mouth, and opened the bathroom door, there was really only one word: defiled.

There was one new text on her phone since she'd snapped.

.

From: Beck  
>Sent: 4:52pm<p>

Hey, Rina –

.

Cat flung the phone to the floor, dived into her bed, and pressed her pillow over her head until the roaring in her ears drowned out thought.

The second time wasn't nearly as bad. Neither was the guilt.

X

For her sixteenth birthday, Beck got Cat the 2-disc, digitally remastered, _Cinderella_ Platinum Edition DVD. He made the card out to "Princess", signing it "Sir Beckett". Just a little something to make her smile.

Jade snorted and handed over a deluxe Bed, Bath and Yonder basket. Robbie looked smug as she unwrapped his ten-color nail polish set, complete with black "shatter". Tori shot Beck a confused look as she gave her a fifty-dollar gift certificate to the mall. André wrote a song, dedicated to Lil Red, that made her bounce in her seat and squeal with delight.

But Beck hardly remembered two words of the song. He couldn't tell you what colors the nail polishes were. For him, his entire day was made when Cat turned to him, placed her hands on his shoulder and her lips at his ear, and whispered for only him to hear, "_Yours was my favorite._"

Jade wouldn't have let them watch it together. But he would have loved to.

X

The thing was, stopping was a damn sight harder than starting.

The scale reeled backwards like a doomsday clock, dropping with strangely unfulfilling speed. The bulges were still there, the fat shrinking but not disappearing. Cat felt like she was dancing along a tightrope some days, and other days catapulting wildly form one side of the rope to the other; gorging herself in the beautiful grease and fat and calories of pizza to the punishing, rigidly disciplined agony of gagging, choking and retching while trying not to think of how filthy the toilet seat was.

She still loved the old treehouse, though, with every bone in her body.

She made sure to visit, once every week at least. And even if she had to paint it yellow herself, she vowed there would always, always be a yellow leaf in that corner. It felt almost like an omen, a beacon of hope: _Beckett and Rina were here, and one day they'll be back_.

Of course, Beck didn't stop by much. Jade occupied most of his energy. He didn't have much time for anybody else, anymore. But up here, it was nice to pretend.

And still the scale counted down.

X

In the end, it was Jade who broke it off. That's what really killed him. All those unnecessary fights, all that intense complaining, all those excuses to break up with her – and in the end she left him to chase some other bad boy with a motorcycle. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

He went for a walk that afternoon, trying to clear his head. He only realized where he was going when he saw the weathered boards peeking through the branches.

She was there, of course. Twirling a bright yellow leaf before her face. She looked up when he clambered through the trapdoor, but didn't say a word. Just looked at him, with eyes too big for a thin, angular face. Her knuckles knobbed out painfully in near-skeletal fingers, and her old sweater hung looser around her than ever before. How had he not noticed earlier?

"She wasn't the one for you."

It wasn't a consolation, an insult to Jade, or even an opinion. It was merely a fact that she was pointing out, a fact that her eyes said she had known for a long time.

Beck actually smiled a little. Cat's eyes abruptly filled with tears.

He sank down beside her and put his arm around her, loosely at first, then tighter as he felt her slight shoulders, her insubstantial frame, as if she might just blow away when the wind picked up and leave him forever. "I know," he said, and he was talking about so much more. "I know."

Two days later, he caught her wiping her mouth as she left the bathroom. And this time, he was waiting for her in the old treehouse, intervention planned and fingers crossed.

She looked at his brochures without a word. She listened to his speech about the good reputation of the rehab center, about how it wasn't _really_ rehab, just learning to love herself without hurting herself, without interrupting. She sat, stonelike, without any expression at all.

He called her Rina. She burst into sobs.

When she calmed down and pulled back from his arms, he drove her to Freezie Queen and made her eat every last bite. Then he drove her to rehab.

She insisted on walking in on her own and went, alone, a newfound confidence in her step and her head held higher than it had been in a long time.

X

For Catarina's seventeenth birthday, Beck decided to make her Cinderella.

It was a group effort, really; even Jade was game when she found out Cat was checking out of rehab on the morning of her birthday. Tori bought the dress, Jade offered up her house, André scored the band, Robbie (despite Beck's misgivings) was in charge of guests. And Beck – he was right in the thick of it, shouting instructions, making last-minute adjustments and corrections, inexplicably feeling more nervous than on any opening night of any performance in his life. Finally, Jade left the bait in the form of a voicemail: "Cat, we need to talk. This is serious – be at my place by seven."

She'd let herself in right as the clock chimed, her face peaceful yet utterly world-weary.

He never forgot how it changed when they'd all yelled, "SURPRISE!"

She'd cried. Tori, rushing forward, managed to guide her up to Jade's room where the dress was waiting while simultaneously assuring a panicked Beck that tears weren't in fact a bad sign. The party burst into bloom in the background, but Beck simply stood, waiting, fingers crossed so tightly his knuckles ached.

She was a vision. There was no other way to put it. Tori had managed to dig up almost exactly what Beck had tried and failed to describe: an elegant, grown-up Cinderella gown. The satin was so ice blue it was almost white, with elbow-length white gloves and a stunning crystal necklace. Her hair stood out more than ever, a splash of color against delicate beauty. Her eyes found Beck's. Her grin, first dazzling, became her signature breathtaking smile.

He offered a hand, and they swayed on the spot, much too slow for the fast-paced song on the speakers. "Oh, Beck, did you really do all this just for me?"

He stared at his feet like a shy preschooler. "Well – um, yeah, I guess," he mumbled, unable to help a small smile.

She leaned in so close he smelled raspberry shampoo and pressed her lips to his cheek. She lingered a moment, then pulled back and looked at him curiously, as though expecting something. "What?" he asked, hoping his ears weren't as red as they felt.

She chuckled. "It's just that last time I did that, you ran away from me."

He smiled, and this time it was his turn to lean in, so close he felt her heart flutter as he placed his lips at her ear. "People change."

She flushed, her smile growing gentler and sweeter. "Not by much," she corrected softly.

Beck pressed his forehead to Rina's. "No," he agreed. "Not by much."

Ironically, the only two people who didn't stay to dance till the wee hours of the morning were the host and the guest of honor. By the time the sun rose, they were still in their formal attire, sprawled out in the treehouse, talking about everything and anything, and most often nothing at all.

X

There were a lot of couples in the world, but none quite like them. Sure, other couples chased each other in the rain, sang karaoke until they were hoarse, kissed each side of a penny before tossing into a fountain with a wish attached. There were other couples who walked and talked and walked and talked until the sun came down and they realized they had no idea where they were. There were other couples who danced to the music on the mall loudspeakers, fell to the ground laughing, watched Disney movies until they knew all the words to not only classics like "Be Our Guest" and "Kiss the Girl" but more obscure numbers like "He's a Tramp" and "So This Is Love" by heart.

Sure, other couples had each of those. But nobody had all of those. And nobody had their treehouse.

They never really planned to meet there, even now, but one of them would climb up to find the other already there. He'd take her hands, or she'd reach out her arms like a child, and they'd sit there for hours, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Once upon a time she might've cried. Not anymore.

One such afternoon she fell asleep against his shoulder. He didn't move all night. They should've had a horrible time explaining their tardiness and unchanged clothes to Sikowitz the next day, but they were simply laughing too hard to speak.

Stupidest damn fight ever.

X

His memories faded abruptly as a twig snapped.

Then another. And another. And a creaking noise, faint at first, but going closer. Someone was climbing the ladder.

This time, there were no words, just lips meeting in the moonlight, arms circling her waist, fingers braiding through his hair. He whispered his name for her against her throat, and she smiled against his lips. There was no _I'm sorry_. There was no need.

As Cat's airy giggle floated on the night breeze, a single leaf tumbled in the window, a splash of gold against the age-paled wood. When they climbed down – much, _much_ later – it was tacked up on the wall next to a fresh carving:

.

RINA + BECKETT

4EVER + EVER

.

...

**And if you have a minute why don't we go  
><strong>**Talk about it Somewhere Only We Know?  
><strong>**This could be the end of everything  
><strong>**So why don't we go Somewhere Only We Know?**

~Keane, "Somewhere Only We Know"

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..

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**AN: **_Yes, I did slip in a little homage to my Cabbie fic, "A Damn Sight Harder". Not exactly advertising, just another one-shot I'm particularly happy with. Please review, I put a lot of myself into each of these and it means a lot to get even one or two words telling me how I'm doing. Thank you - and seriously, if you've ever struggled like Cat, or struggled with something else like depression or anxiety or self-image or any demons that specialize in making you feel fat, useless, ugly and stupid, please believe me when I say that you are BEAUTIFUL__ and__** YOU ARE NOT ALONE**._

_All my love,  
><em>**_AmbyrRose_**


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